of the condo his manager boughthim when the cash ran like a trout stream

knowing it wasn’t your handprintsthey were after: no gold nude

for the mantle, or a globe or Victrola.Not even money or a gold record —

“Man,” he would sit up thinking,“they just want my guitar.”

Pulchritude

You’re sexy as hell the guy on the next barstoolsaid. I wanna know, how’s that sexy? It’s hot?Cicero knew it in Claudius Pulcher, so grotesquely beautifulout from his saffron dress, from his headdress,from his Cinderella slippers and his purple ribbons,from his dereliction, from his lust.You’d dress me up like a tartor in a little devilcostume, completewith horns and pitchfork,and then say you’re hot.

I’d dress you up like a fireman.And I’ll be on fire.

Call It History

In tragedy, you die.In comedy, you marryTell me, who wrote this system?

Considering the options,I killed parts of myselfevery time I said I do,

which was never funnyparticularly when I did not anymore.

No bliss outside of marriage –the system directs out of decency,preferring the conjugalto lusting adulterous or flirting.Yes, even the flirting.

What about – you marry for comedyand divorce to be bornagain, twist of sacrament?

Call it history.

Leah M. Hughes is from Dalton, Georiga. She attended Oglethorpe University, Georgia State, and Queens University of Charlotte. She educates and writes in the metro-Atlanta area, where she enjoys copious reading, her three dachshunds, gardening, and live music.